


The Bet

by Anoki



Series: Tales of Mordaine [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Fight Sex, Fingering, Human/Monster Romance, Intersex, M/M, Misgendering, Monster - Freeform, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Penetration, Original Character(s), Other, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, bet, shadowshifter, ya-ogun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23283502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoki/pseuds/Anoki
Summary: Traveling to the Northern regions on a mission that requires more waiting then Zanarin has patience for, boredom leads Zanarin to a duel and a bet - the prize? His body.
Series: Tales of Mordaine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1273880
Comments: 12
Kudos: 113





	The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> The handsome Runar: https://twitter.com/Nokibuu1/status/1122839968399761408?s=20  
> Zanarin for those unfamiliar: https://twitter.com/Anokidoll/status/1074413238660386816?s=20

There was something to be said for the liveliness of trade towns; hawking, hum of people passing through in droves looking through stalls and the sights, the smells all around. The thrum of people going about their lives.

A northernmost post, this town had more in the way of tough species; human, or more often called Fae touched, and Ya-Ogun. These were most commonly spotted. Each were an interesting sight for humans were such a varied race at this point that they often had strange quirks, strange colors. The Ya-Ogun were easy to spot; spiky, rocky looking creatures with severe faces and hulking size. They were humanoid in shape, in feature, with a coloration that made one think of semi precious stone. There were few willing to cross paths with those creatures. 

Iskil was at the edge of the Ya-Ogun territory but it was a popular trade route, seeing all manner of goods and people slipping through. 

It was rumors rather than goods that had brought Zanarin to these chilly lands.

There was said to be pockets of surviving shadowshifters living out on the edges of these harsh lands - whether that was true or not was what needed confirmed. He had high hopes. He had to. 

Mordaine had never quite gotten to be as frigid as these lands; biting wind enough to send shudders up and down Zanarin's spine, chilled him to the bone. Locals said this was typical early fall weather. 

Zanarin dreaded what winter must be like. 

He drew his coat further around himself, meandering down the length of stalls with their strange varieties of foods and wares. A great deal of furs and antler was sold here, gems, and steel. Rendered fat and thick wool, dried meats and leather. 

There was contract work for warriors and labourers, greedily grabbed up by young Ya-Ogun on pilgrimages outside of their clans to learn new skills. There was perhaps not something for everyone in this fringe town on the edge of the wilds, but there was a whole hell of a lot.

Over the course of the last three days there was one young Ya-Ogun in particular that Zanarin had taken notice of. During the day he worked wrangling the large woolen beasts they commonly used as riding and pack animals but in the late afternoon he would be at the local tavern and it was there that he would issue a challenge.

If one could best him in a fight they would take the whole bet pot from that night.

Zanarin had yet to see anyone beat him.

It had been a subject of fascination for him, watching both Ya-Ogun and human alike jump at the chance to try and win the money of earlier losers. He chanced that the fighting brought some sense of relief for them, for the lands here were unforgiving and there was little in the way of fun to be had when a great deal of your focus was on survival. 

Why they jumped at the chance to fight that young Ya-Ogun he did not know, for despite his youth he was already massive and scarred. An early bloomer so to speak. He was handsome enough for his strange race, his duller dark blue coloration patched through with lustrous strips of vibrant blue and muted gold, a patch of muted gold with spots of lilac upon his chest. Dark blue spike protrusions tipped with shimmers of lustrous blue and gold. His eyes were an intense orange and the single time their gazes had met the young Ya-Ogun had stared him down like he meant to challenge him. 

Not that he had stuck around given the youth had been speckled in blood from a fist fight so fresh his opponent still lay groaning at his feet.

In this land it was tradition for the challenger to pick the method of fighting, well, as long as it was a method that could be matched. It had to be a fair fight or it was cheating. 

Strange but an oddly charming tradition. 

Despite the cultural shock and new sights, spending time out here with no sign of rumors being true was… boring. He was not to leave this place for a full eight days at the very least, not till he found the information he needed. It was a bleak time of wandering and rooting into any minute rumor he could find.

Getting into a fist fight with a hulking Ya-Ogun was starting to look fun.

Perhaps that was what had brought him here outside of the tavern, past wares stalls where a circle of people hooted and hollered.

Another fist fight, he noted, craning on the tips of his toes to see past crowding larger bodies. 

The challenger was proving to be able to put up a fight, landing a blow here, there, ducking and dodging. A sudden well placed hit to the jaw sent him stumbling back into the ring of people, scattering them and sending a wave of rowdy laughter through the lot of them. He dropped to the ground, unable to get back on his feet. Stunned.

Another win.

Zanarin glanced up from the fallen challenger only to meet the gaze of the youth, his bare, barrel of a chest heaving for breath. 

The youth stared him down.

Zanarin smirked and found himself unable to resist.

“Are you as skilled with a sword as you are with your fists?” he called in question. 

There were some leers shot his way and laughter. Among human and Ya-Ogun alike he probably looked more like a woman than anything and his comment likely took on more of a vulgar connotation because of it. 

“Well?” he arched a brow high.

“Go on Runar, show her your ‘sword’.” One of his fellows barked with a laugh.

Runar straightened to his full height, gaze piercing. All but deaf to their quips.

“Yes.” he spoke, his Common heavily accented. Thick. 

Ambling over Zanarin tossed a couple small glittering gems into the hat already overflowing with the young man's winnings. 

“Then I shall like to challenge you to a duel.” He rolled his coat down his shoulders and tossed it to the hard packed earth. He tossed his ruddy hair out of his good eye. “The first to disarm the other wins. Do those terms sound agreeable?” 

Runar nodded curtly, still eyeing him. Whether out of curiosity or trying to measure his skill he didn't know. The young man's expressions were difficult to read as it was given the way his facial structure worked. Ya-Ogun looked stern no matter what and the jutting horn like structures arching back from his brow did not help.

Zanarin had seen the fighting style of the Ya-Ogun in action; heavy, powerful blows, slashing and hacking. Their skin was remarkably thick and it took a great deal of power to really bleed them. Yet he knew that they were decidedly slower than his own kin. 

That would be his advantage. 

The circle of curious gawkers widened as Runar drew a blade from his pile of gear. It was short and sturdy but it looked like it could easily hack a limb clean off. 

Zanarin's own slightly curved, slim blade looked fragile in comparison and despite it's length he would not quite have that much more reach then the towering Ya-Ogun.

He held his blade at the ready; they circled. 

Runar broke their silence with a jab that forced Zanarin to dance back, light on his feet. Zanarin lunged, parried, dust wafting about their feet as they clashed, ringing steel clear as bells in the cool air.

Ya-Ogun learned to fight early - traditions still upheld since the days before their council of seven warlords ushered in a relative calm to their war torn homeland. Skirmishes were most often decided by a duel, sparing those uninvolved from suffering.

This young Ya-Ogun seemed to have learned the art well, matching Zanarin strike after strike. Yet Zanarin too had been raised from a young age to fight and he could bet he had been at this far, far longer than this boy. Their clashing forced the circle around them wider, Zanarin watching closely the way the young man moved, each flicker of his blade meeting his own. Their blades caught, pressure forced heavily against Runar's thumb. His orange eyes widened slightly.

Zanarin wrenched his blade and sent Runar's flying out of his hand and with it several of those gathered cursed and scattered out of the way like startled fowl.

He flicked his blade up and beneath Runar's chin, flashed a coy smile.

“I believe the match is mine.”

There was muttering among those gathered, a whistle from one of the human men gathered among them. 

Runar's expression was difficult to read, his chest rising and falling sharply, heavy brow furrowed. As Zanarin pulled his blade back and sheathed it the Ya-Ogun rubbed at his throat and regarded the redhead closely.

“It was a pleasure dueling you, you've a great deal of skill.” Zanarin hummed, leaned down to catch up the hat filled with the evening's pot. “I am sure you shall make this back by the end of the night.”

The young man hesitated a moment before he straightened fully and gave a sharp nod.

“Yes… thank you.”

Pot in hand Zanarin handed the empty hat back to him, his good eye meeting Runar's. 

“A good evening to you.” 

He turned on his heel and left the circle then, ambling into the tavern for a pint. The click of his shoes across rough hewn stone floors faded into the noise of workers celebrating the end of their day.

Until he was lost among the crowd he could feel the eyes of the young Ya-Ogun on his back.

What a thrill that had been! Nothing like a little excitement to break up the monotony of this damn mission.

The rest of his evening was uneventful as was the next two days. Still no confirmation, no changes. An endless march of boredom and frustration that could not be worked out. No amount of pacing the streets or people watching could chase it away. By Death's mercy what he would have given for another duel! Was not worth the risk of angering locals but all the same he was itching for something.

As if reading his mind fate smiled on him the evening of the third day.

Walking back to the inn took him past where the young Ya-Ogun worked during day hours and the boy was watching for him it would seem, for he was waved down before he could get far.

“You,” Runar gruffed. “You like bet, yes?”

Zanarin cocked a brow, nodded.

“I propose challenge.” Runar continued and thumped a hand against his sturdy chest. “You fight me, hand to hand. You win, I give you today's earnings...but if I win, I bed you.”

“Excuse me? You want to bed me?” Zanarin blinked and barked a laugh. That was...unexpected. 

Runar narrowed his eyes, nodded sharply. “Yes, I win, you will be mine for the night.”

What a concept that was. Zanarin regarded the Ya-Ogun, bewildered but finding the concept more and more agreeable. He had expected to be challenged for the pot from before, not challenged with the prospect that HE would be the prize!

“Fine. When and where shall this duel take place?” 

Runar's eyes sparked and he jerked his chin to the northern end of town. “There is open terrain outside of the city, near my camp, soft loam, good for hand to hand. We go now?”

Zanarin laughed aloud.

Well why not? Why not indeed.

“Yes, of course...and you said hand to hand?”

“Yes.” Runar gruffed with a faint toothy grin. “You are good with sword, shall see how you fair with hand, yeah?”

Zanarin chuckled dryly. Hand to hand was not his best, at least not when he wasn't using his shadows and to make this fair shadows would have to be excluded. Not only that but the last thing he needed was to announce what he was to the locals. Too much trouble there.

So hand to hand it would be.

Against this big boy.

Hand to hand…

I might as well just pull down my pants at this rate… he thought to himself, unable to help but admire how young Runar's muscles rippled beneath his mottled skin.

Young as he was this was a man that routinely wrestled Great Ox into submission. Those humongous, wooly creatures were nothing to laugh about strength wise, their sheer size more than enough to have put some truly strong muscle on a man. Zanarin would have to put out his best if he had any chance of winning.

“What is name?” Runar queried, head tilted slightly. His heavy boots thumped as they walked along.

“Zanarin.”

The young man hummed and glanced down at Zanarin. 

“It is good name. I am Runar.” he introduced himself with a puff of his chest and Zanarin could have sworn he was trying to impress him.

Perhaps he was? Zanarin did not know much about the customs surrounding mating for the Ya-Ogun. Was this proposed bet just a way to flirt?

A charming notion...

“That is a good name.”

Runar laughed and the rumbling low in his throat was a pleasant sound indeed.

This was just the sort of distraction he needed. All he had to do was try his best not to get too distracted! That might be… rough. Runar was decidedly handsome for his race and Zanarin was not in the least immune to that fact. Nor was he immune to the side eyed glances thrown his way. His belly fluttered.

Zanarin kept his eyes to himself, hands firmly planted in the depths of his coat pockets.

The walk was pleasant, meandering out on the country road, passing into fields of low growing herbs and hardy moss. Runar's camp was about a half hour walk from the edge of Iskil and true to his word, there was a large flat area spread out past the grove of trees he had raised his round hut tent. The sturdy thing was draped with dyed leathers and looked like it would even be pleasant in the middle of winter. A traditional style of tent in these parts, the round, squat tent was well insulated and braced by a strong skeleton of bone and wood lashed into a arching shape. A Great Ox grazed out in the meadow beyond, tethered by ropes lashed in a sort of harness about its horns.

“My camp for autumn.” Runar declared. “Will move further south with the herds in winter.”

That anyone dared to wrangle, let alone ride the Great Ox still impressed Zanarin. Even at six feet tall they dwarfed him with ease. 

Of course Runar dwarfed him too.

The big man trotted up to his tent and swept in; he would emerge not long after with a coil of rope about his arm. He used the braided rope to form a circle, a sort of ring for their match. Zanarin watched him work, silent and hands still firmly buried in the warmth of his pockets.

Runar straightened and dusted his hands off on the rusty red of his loose trousers. “That marks where we duel.” he gestured to the pale rope strewn in a circle over moss and trailing, hardy ground cover. “The first to pin or knock the other out of the ring wins the bet. No kicks, punches fine. Simple, yes?” 

Runar looked to him and Zanarin dipped his chin in a nod.

“Yes...and what if you win?” he arched a brow with a twinge of a smile quirking one side of his lips. “Are there any rules for that?”

“I take my prize.” Runar declared, puffing his chest out with a grin.

Zanarin made an impolite noise in the back of the throat but there was a decided glint of amusement in his good eye. The boy was a charmer, wasn't he?

Runar drew his tunic off and tossed it aside upon the mossy ground, rolled his heavy shoulders. Bare chested in the afternoon light. Zanarin slid his coat off and laid it down, setting his sword neatly down on top of it. He approached the circle, stepped inside. Runar stood inside as well, across from him like a looming pillar.

Excitement was a tight coil in his gut and Zanarin adjusted his stance, hands clenched into fists. 

“Ready.” he declared.

That was all it took for Runar to engage him. His reach was long and his hands big enough to wrap with ease around Zanarin's throat. To let him grab a hold was inviting disaster. He had to dance away from them, dodge the lunging grasps and they circled about in their shoddy ring like wild creatures behind bars of a cage.

Zanarin flitted about Runar, light footed with his good eye trained upon the youth. Though the right side was a notable blind spot he was used to the loss at this point and did what he could to keep Runar from slipping out of his sight. This unfortunately made it more difficult to land a punch and he constantly had to be aware of where the rope lay across the uneven ground. 

Runar had a distinct advantage.

Zanarin was determined to give him one hell of a fight all the same.

Runar made another grab for him and he ducked beneath his arm, an uppercut aimed for the Ya-Ogun’s gut. The blow connected and his eyes widened.

Runar did not even flinch. He curled inward some and air hissed through clenched teeth but his steely expression was focused.

On him.

Zanarin more felt then saw the arm that swept up and at him. Barely in time to drop and roll away to stand behind Runar. For all that Runar was raw power Zanarin was speedy, agile. That was his best bet, to try and keep out of his grasp till he tired out. 

If he wanted to play it safe that was. 

Do I? He mused, dodging from another swipe, back peddling just shy of the rope edge.

That was...decidedly not fun. Did not set his blood to roaring nor his heart to hammering. There had been far too much waiting, too much quiet and calm. Now with the scent of crushed moss and creeping herbs, of crisp autumn air he felt electrified. Zanarin ducked another blow, threw one of his own. His fist hit Runar with a thump but again it barely fazed him, even landing under his chin and clicking his teeth together he barely reacted.

He smirked. 

Zanarin's heart leapt in his breast.

Runar stepped back, heavy boots thudding softly upon the cushy ground and rubbed under his chin.

“Good hit, should bruise.” He hummed. 

Zanarin had heard that the Ya-Ogun were a very sturdy species; their hides thick above toned muscle. He had not expected them to be THIS tough. Perhaps he should have guessed, given the occupation and the scars. Mostly he was impressed and a good deal more thrilled then he would have expected.

The pause was not long, Runar rounded upon him again and Zanarin was set to dancing away. He would have to tip him if he were to gain any advantage in this without use of sword or shadows. Zanarin refused to let this end without a worthwhile show of skill.

He grinned as he dipped under a blow, a leg sweeping out behind Runar and at his ankles. 

He stumbled.

He did not fall.

Zanarin cursed.

Despite his height he was stocky and stable, catching himself with ease and rounding upon him. He was forced to scramble, rolling away and to his feet with Runar in close pursuit. The big man closed in and Zanarin threw another punch, this time landing it square in the eye.

Runar reeled back, a shocked, thick noise sounding deep in his throat.

Zanarin zipped in with another to the nose and Runar was forced to crane back. With him distracted by what no doubt would be a bloodied nose Zanarin slammed himself into the thick body, struggled to force him back and over the pale line of rope circling them.

Runar had other plans. 

His legs locked, meaty arms coming around Zanarin like a steel cage. He gasped out a breathless curse, squirmed and clawed at the larger man but the grip did not loosen. He wasn't even sure his claws were doing much more than denting his thick hide. Runar drew his head back and without a sound thudded it against Zanarin's hard enough he saw stars and tasted blood. He felt the ground sweep toward him, weight far heavier than his own above.

An arm held him pinned to the ground as the world swirled. 

Above Runar slowly counted and below Zanarin tried to gather himself, struggled to get his body to move. A leg swept up, locked on the thick arm and pushed, twisted him sluggishly from the cage of his arms and across the moss. The world still swam and he spit blood upon the green-grey and gold speckled ground. He attempted a scramble and grunted once a hand clasped about his ankle and yanked him back.

He pinned him harder this time, crushing him below his considerable weight while Zanarin thrashed and snarled.

Patient, black eyed and bloody of nose, Runar counted.

Traditionally a pin must last till the count of ten. Zanarin managed to break his hold once at five, then once again with an elbow to the cheek at eight, but the weight of the man tired him out far faster than anything else. Runar would not let him get far before pulling him back beneath his bulk.

“Ten.” he sounded with a victorious chuckle.

Zanarin sagged under him, panting and frazzled.

“You are damned heavy.” Zanarin grunted.

“Yes.” Runar agreed, still hovered over him, hips pinning Zanarin effectively to the earth. He stared down at him, head tilted and his once bound hair escaping somewhat from his already messy bun. Purplish bruising blossomed around one eye and blood had ceased streaming from his bashed nose.

He looked remarkably handsome like that. 

“And what now?” Zanarin puffed out, brows arched high. “You have won.” 

A large hand squeezed his hip and drew them flush. “I take my prize, yes?”

Zanarin chuckled, a grin taking place of his slight scowl. “Right here on the moss?” He asked him, a playful lilt to his tone. If he were to be a prize at least he would fluster the boy! 

Runar paused, considering the time of day, the growing chill in the air. He rumbled amorously down at Zanarin.

“Would you say no?” He questioned and kneaded roughly along the curve of a buttock. Zanarin couldn't muffle a moan and arched into the touch.

“...I would not.” 

“Good.” 

Rough lips pressed to his collar, mouthed along the sweep of bone under the thin material, lips catching at buttons and popping them open. Eager, hungry. It came as somewhat of a surprise that the young man had taken such a fancy to him but Zanarin didn't have any complaints, not when eager lips pressed rough kisses to bared skin and a heavy, muscular frame ground in against him in a longing sweep.

There was a firm swelling pressed to his loins and Zanarin shivered. Oh, oh dear he felt rather gifted. What a thrill that was! He arched into the pass of hands and lips, aided Runar in his jerking pulls at his clothes till they peeled away and bared naked skin to the cool air. 

Runar was fascinated by the soft yield of his skin and pressed bruising kisses along his chest. Zanarin groaned and bowed, a hot spike of lust settling in his gut. The boy was sloppy and almost too rough but his handsy methods were quickly stoking his lusts to burning heights. Long legs shuddered and spread for the harsh grind of strong hips and a moan choked in his arched throat. 

Trousers were drug down his thighs, peeled free of him like one might a succulent treat. Runar growled and lightly nibbed the edge of a hip, carefully flinging a leg over his shoulder to trap among the dull spikes jutting from his skin. He pushed the remaining tangle of pants and boots free of Zanarin's legs and washed the splay of lower belly with heated breaths and firm kisses. His mouth drifted lower, hot in its sweep and caress against tender skin. A gasp burst from Zanarin's lips and he arched into the press of a broad, thick tongue.

He was not quite gentle in his lapping, press firm, spreading folds and gathering dew. Hips arched into the motion, clit throbbing. Runar's lips were not as flexible as Zanarin's own, his race's rugged features lacking some of the mobility one might see in softer races. He made up for that in the flick and grind of his tongue. More than made up for it! Zanarin clenched his teeth and shuddered, bit the tip of his thumb. Heat pooled heavy in his gut.

Shakily he took hold of one of the stony horns jutting from Runar's brow and pulled his mouth in tighter, bowed his back to better crush his sex into the hungry slip of tongue. He cursed under his breath, furrowed brow and bitten lip.

A rough suck and bliss rippled upward and outward, lower body popping forward and a shuddery cry dripped off his lip into the muffle of his arm. Runar growled against him, gripped his buttocks all the tighter. He washed him with another swipe of his tongue, breath hot and heavy along pale inner thighs and flushed lips. Zanarin groaned, worried his lower lip till it ached. 

Strong hands kneaded along his buttocks, up to his hips and pulled Zanarin under him. His breath caught in his throat, blue eye glittering as Runar ground his cloth trapped piece against him. Yet Runar hesitated; did not pull his own trousers down, did not move much beyond grinding and watching him squirm into the motion.

“You won,” Zanarin huffed, “Why do you not take your prize?”

“I am realizing,” Runar said, still kneading along hips and buttocks, head tilted to the side and brow furrowed. “That you are smaller, softer, then the women of my people.” 

Zanarin snorted, laughed. “Are you afraid I'm no match for your cock, boy?” 

Runar went a rather interesting shade and Zanarin smirked. “Come now, fish it out, I'm sure I've dealt with worse. Take your prize.” As it was he was damn near salivating, for even as gentle as Runar had been thus far he was still rough. Gods above he wanted him to be more firm in his touch… 

His taunting seemed to do the trick for Runar yanked the hem of his trousers down and out they sprung; two, strangely shaped and thick.

“Well?” he demanded in a low husk, “can you handle it?”

That was unexpected but after Roslin Zanarin considered himself ready for anything. A smirk curled his lips and he lifted a leg, pressed his toes in a coy push to his pec. “I can, if you make me.” He purred.

Runar's eyes widened and a rumble rattled in his chest. He made to grab at Zanarin, to haul him closer in but he twisted with a laugh and pushed him back with a straightening of one long leg. 

Runar growled.

He pursued, groping hip up closer while Zanarin tried to twist himself out of his grasp. He was drug back on his belly, lichen and moss tickling his belly, teasing his nipples to points. The strange girths ground against his flushed cunt and he groaned, arched his hips up into their throb. 

“I start with one, yes?” Runar panted hotly.

Zanarin threw a glance over his speckled shoulder. “Loosen me up and you can fit them both.” he reached back and spread a cheek, exposing the pink of his pucker and the slick shine of his eager sex.

Runar shuddered, a twitch of muscles not unlike that of a beast eager to give chase. He gripped him by the hips, kneading them roughly, cock slipping along his lips, kissing his clit and the other brushed between his buttocks.

“One for now.” Runar gruffed. 

Tension rippled through his body, the young Ya-Ogun struggling not to plunge into Zanarin with abandon. Clearly this was something he wanted desperately and that only fueled Zanarin's enjoyment and desire to tease. 

He craned his hips up, a tempting push and spread his legs a bit wider for sturdy thighs to press close. A hand came to rest upon his lower back and hooked back to grip the upper flesh of a buttock. Forward, the first kiss of crown to folds, pressed them open with unyielding eagerness. Its twin twitched against his clit, grinding the silk wrapped steel of it across his mons. Zanarin rolled his hips as much as he could and snarled under his breath. Hells, the damn thing was so hot! Each fold along the crown and upper shaft of the piece massaged him from within and what still rest outside teased along him with the promise of just how nicely he could wreck him.

The hard grip upon his buttocks brought him down upon the thick length til his arse pressed flush to Runar's belly. A shudder rippled down his frame and Runar paused with the whole of one sunk to the absolute limits of that tight heat.

“All things holy…” Runar choked out, “fuck…”

A garbled laugh broke from Zanarin. Now wasn't that a nice compliment if he had ever heard one.  
He purred softly, forehead pressed to hardy moss.

“Come then boy…” 

Runar did not need another word of encouragement; he slammed forward, other hand coming down to press upon the freckled spot between Zanarin’s shoulders. It held him firmly in place and all that could be done was moan and catch his breath.

Energetic was one way to describe how Runar fucked; his hips met Zanarin’s ass with a resounding slap and his pace was grueling. Each slam would drag his other cock along his cunt, stroking them both off and driving his hips to bucking. He panted and clawed the earth, choked on cries that seemed unable to cease their flow forth. 

Losing was worth it.

His eyes rolled; a deep thrust near pushing him to his limits. How did the boy still have so much energy? He hadn't slackened in the slightest, pace still nearly too much to take. His heart pounded, skin grown ruddy from the furious clap of their hips. Runar's breath grew ragged, hissing past his teeth in more of a growl than anything else. 

Both lengths jumped, bottom piece dripping strings of pre like pearls across the patchwork ground. He ground deep, snarling grunts forced past clenched teeth and Zanarin cried out in ecstasy, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Runar pushed his hips down, trying to pop himself free.

“Don't, please…” Zanarin husked, “Oh please don't pull out!”

Runar shuddered, hips stammering. He seemed to take but a moment to think on it before crushing down into him with a bevy of heavy thrusts. He rooted deep, both hands pushed upon the middle of Zanarin's back; body tense as pleasure took him. A gush of seed strung along Zanarin's walls, more icing his belly and the ground below.

There was a span of breathless murmurs, trembling limbs and the uncertain but covetous palming along Zanarin's lower back and hips. 

“You… fuck…” Runar laughed and shook his head, gaze all the more hungry, as if this were but the first course of a ten course meal. He kneaded Zanarin's hips, watched as he twitched back into the touch with a croon of appreciation.

“We… we go again?” Runar questioned, earnest.

“We can go,” Zanarin panted, “As many times as you wish.”

They could go like this the rest of his stay here just as long as he could get more of this. The slight cool breeze had his skin pebbled and just the tickle of the moss stole small moans and shivers from him. Boredom was a far away thing when electric tingles danced beneath your skin and throbbed in your core.

“What if I don't stop?” Runar gruffed against the top of his head, leaned in close enough that his heat cut away the cold of sunset. 

Zanarin rolled his hips in reply, cast a coy look over his shoulder.

“Are you flirting with me?” 

Runar was silent, his cheek pressing to the side of Zanarin's head, into fiery curls. He ground himself as far as he could go, breath dusting across his throat.

“Is working?”

“Let's give that other fellow a ride and then I'll let you know.” 

A shudder rocked him and Runar withdrew, his lengths still half hard. He slicked them together in one hand, groaning as natural lubricant wrung from the foldlike ridges near his crown. Seed and slick coated his hand and as a lewd glob of spend dripped from Zanarin's spread folds he hooked his fingers into his pert backside. 

He was methodical about spreading him, scissoring and thrusting. Zanarin let his head hang and tore at the moss, moaning louder when another hand joined the one working, this time below to rub his seed slicked sex. Runar leaned in, teeth grazing an ass cheek and a growl puffed hot and heavy against flushed skin. Fingers cupped either side of his achy clit and massaged, two others spread his ass wide and plunged deep.

“Mnnghh f...fuck!” Zanarin cried.

Runar was spurred on, tongue and teeth mapped across his buttock, bottom hand ruthless, top popping two more fingers within, slick hole shuddering about their intrusion.

Shudders rattled him, desperately choking his blissful cry with battle worn knuckles. He twitched and trembled, lashes low and lower body a mess of throbbing heat.

Runar drew back, took the two very much interested shafts in hand. He guided each to their proper hole, shuddering excitedly as bit by bit he filled Zanarin again till he had crushed him belly down into the moss. A warbling cry burst from the redhead, his toes curling, hips popped up pleadingly. They rocked together then to meet one another, a slick sticky mess between them from Runar's rough plunges. Dribbles of seed and slick slid down his shuddery thighs and each push settled Runar deep in his core. 

Sheathed, his weight pressed firm upon the top of him, Runar snarled under his breath. Zanarin muffled another helpless cry into the moss, cunt throbbing. The amount of stamina he had was at once both worrisome and a delight. Few outside his own race could keep up with him.

Of course none of them had had two cocks. 

With both buried deep his legs shook and then he was ground into the earth with the power of Runar's snapping hips. Sharp, rapid. A merciless pace that was at once nearly too much and just right. Runar held him like that for a time, his strong hands pushing him into the spongy moss, fragrant herbs. He was cursing incoherently, stretched ass and achy cunt spasming about the furious piston of those sizable cocks. 

Hells! He would gladly stick around if this was what he could get. Zanarin tilled the ground beneath clawing hands, arched his back till his ass bowed up in desperate offering.

Runar rooted deep with every plunging thrust. A hand gripped fiercely at the nape of Zanarin's neck and held him. No wiggle room, no give. Ecstasy sparked through him in jolts and pops, tongue lolling, eyes rolled. Death's mercy how hot inside he had become, how liquid and quivering! Pleasure was a taut string from throat to loins, pulled so tight that a single pluck could make it snap and when Runar caught it the ripple sent him falling. 

He sobbed into the moss, scrabbling as much as he could under the sturdy coils of Runar's impressive arms. Zanarin bucked and twitched, fluttering sparks popping off with each little buck of hips. Runar spent his own pleasure deep once again; ground himself till he could go no further and snarled under his breath. Poured his lust, hot and viscous into the winking passages. 

They stilled and Runar kept Zanarin pinned beneath him, watched the last fading tremors and relished the small moans that puffed out in delicate clouds about the smaller man's rose spotted face. His withdrawal was reluctant but the sight was well worth it; a gush of pearly seed oozing from flush and gaping holes. Runar drew his hands along quivering flanks, across muscular back and shoulders. He did not want to let this one go.

But a bet was a bet.

Zanarin purred softly below, low lashed, listless. Insides were a jumbled, fluttery mess and he knew he would wobble for a few hours at least should he try to walk. 

"Do you… wish to stay?" Runar asked. "For the night." He quickly added and even in the blissful haze of a good orgasm Zanarin swore he was blushing. It couldn't be a trick of the eye! Not the fading light of evening, no way.

"I would say yes," Zanarin murmured, "But I'm expected back."

Not a lie, he had someone he needed to meet that night, an informant. It felt like an excuse all the same. A way out of further entanglement. 

Runar shrugged and smiled halfheartedly. "Perhaps another time?"

Zanarin grinned back. "Yes, I would like that."

But there would not be another time. They cleaned up, dressed and parted ways. Zanarin left him with a quick, playful peck on the cheek and disappeared into the evening shadow. That night would be the last he stayed here, for the information was good and his mission would take him from this small trade town.

Setting out for the southwestern edge of untouched wilderness Zanarin felt a pang of guilt and regret. He would have liked to speak to Runar again, to keep his word. The aches of their match still lay deep and each movement reminded him of his handsome challenger. 

"Yes," he sighed with a half smile, "Perhaps another time."


End file.
